Accepting Irony
by mystic-angel1
Summary: The Year of Secret Assignments: She tried to speak but couldn’t. His head bent after awhile, bright eyes lowering to the ground and shoulders slumping as he turned away..."Paul?"
1. Give me mercy

"Accepting Irony."

Disclaimer: I don't own The Year of Secret Assignments, although it IS a freckin' amazing book and this site should definitely have a category for it.

Author of this book: Jaclyn Moriarty

A/N: Wow. I've never written in a misc. section before. hopefully someone would have heard of this book. If not, you can pick it up at your local chapters. And please do. Its amazing.

This is a random idea I had while lying one a beach towel and reading this book for the tenth time, and working on my surprisingly non-existent tan. I ALWAYS tan. I guess this year just hasn't been a good year for tanning. Oh well.

Hehe! Give me feedback.

* * *

The rain continued to tap against the window. Cassie Aganovic leaned her elbow against her kitchen window, using her skin to wipe of the perspiration and peer out at her backyard. She'd always hated the rain, no matter how pretty and symbolic her parents had always taught her it could be. It made everything wet, and almost always ruined your day by stopping you from doing things you'd wanted to do. Like going to the beach. Or winning a high-jump competition.

She sighed, turning around and resting her elbows against the window sill. Almost instantly she forgot her depression, a smile gracing her pretty features at the sight before her. Her kitchen, not to mention the rest of her house, was in an absolute mess.

Her mother had gone on a –have-to-be-by-myself-and-get-a-tan vacation in some far off island for a few days, leaving Cass with the house to herself. Immediately, because she hated being in the house alone since her father's death, and also because this was an opportunity for her to get drunk out of her mind (Charlie insisted she was an alcoholic by simply thinking this) she'd called her friends over.

It might have been a mistake, but one of those mistakes you laugh about after you clean it up. Or your friends laugh about it while you clean it up. Emily Thompson, one of her two long time best friends and Charlie Taylor, Emily's boyfriend (who'd also become quite close to her since he'd started hanging around Emily's friends) had gone into some drunken cooking competition. Lydia Jaackson-Oberman, her other lifetime best friend, and her boyfriend Seb Mantegna, had been trying to remodel her smoke detector. This had gone on until Cassie had been sure they'd alert the firefighters, and Charlie had discovered the Kareoke machine.

Cassie giggled quietly to herself as she wet a paper towel and began to swipe it along the counter. Her 'get-togethers' with Lydia and Emily had always been amusing. But Charlie and Seb, who'd come into their lives through a school pen-pal system, had grown to be as fond to Cassie as Emily and Lydia were. (Still, the two boys knew that she'd kill them in an instant if they even considered hurting her best friends.)

Even cleaning, her mood about the rain and being alone in her house once more had completely been forgotten as she thought about her friends. Emily's slight air-headedness; fitting so well with Charlie's tendency to get annoyed with things that were incorrect. Lydia's hobby of messing with people's heads along with Seb being so easily confused and then frustrated when he realized she was only messing with him. She'd never seen such contradicting couples who went so well together.

_But you're alone._

She sighed, dumping a few empty bottles into the recycling bin. Alone for a week, alone in her house, alone in her heart. Boys had always been too scared of her after her father had died. The only one who spoke to her openly had been Matthew Dunlop, and he'd been fake and had hated her the whole time anyway.(and Charlie, who along with thinking her an alcoholic, figured she was sexually repressed, and couldn't understand why she wouldn't want a boyfriend; Emily defended her by insisting she wasn't repressed, simply asexual).

She shrugged her shoulders to herself. It didn't really matter. Boys just had never really interested her. She'd had more important things to think about.

The doorbell gave a sharp pang, snapping her out of her thoughts and making her jump and stumble over her kitchen stool. Wincing and grumbling at the stupid stool (Who needs a stool in a kitchen anyway?) she made her way down the hall and to the door. Who would be here this late, and in a rainstorm no less? Her friends were too drunk to remember that they forgot something. Was it her mother? Than why had she wrung the doorbell?

Her heart thumping with sudden fear, she pulled the door open cautiously, tensing her muscles to react however she needed to.

She almost screamed. A hooded figure stood in the doorway, hands stuffed in pockets and head tilted down. This person wasn't well dressed for the rain, soaking and practically gushing water.

"Y-yes?" She all but squeaked.

The figure didn't reply for a long while, and she was almost prepared to slam and lock the door when he reached a hand up, pulling his hood from his head in a flourish. Cass' face paled as her eyes focused on his features.

"I'm sorry." He muttered. "I didn't have anywhere else to go."

She tried to speak but couldn't. His head bent after awhile, bright eyes lowering to the ground and shoulders slumping as he turned away. She could just let him go, but something triggered at the sight of him, the memory of being curled out in the rain, torn pieces of paper scattered around her. She gasped.

"_Paul_?"

* * *

Heh. This is just the start, and I sort of reckon no one will read this. BUT I shall continue to write it for my own benefit, since I really like the idea of this story.

Yes, my friends, this WILL be a Cass/Paul. Which is sort of a repulsive idea, like..Lydia and Emily ended up with their guys, so Cass HAS to end up with Paul. But fear not, because this will really be a build-up story. Because Cass and Paul will DEFINITELY not "Fall in Love" right away. No WAY would that happen. EVER. Okay? Okay.

Please Review! (assuming you're reading this!)


	2. Say thank you

"Accepting Irony."

Disclaimer: I don't own Year of Secret Assignments. I do, however, own the right to torture Paul endlessly in this fic. Its one of those love/hate things, my love for Paul.

Question: Did anyone read the first PenPal Project book? I think its about Kristina and her best friend from Ashbury, whom we see at some point during the book. I just wanted to know if Paul was in it. Cause I heard he was, but I'm not sure. That's the next book I'm picking up at Chapters!

Luny Teen: She IS a genius! What a perfect book eh? There's hardly any description, but you can still tell what's going on and understand it as if it were a normal book. I love it.

Subtly Cynical Kitsune: It was a random idea. I'm glad you like it!

Princess Elizabeth: Its true. I was actually kind of repulsed by the idea of this story at first. But I kept reading the Paul/Cassie parts of the books, and I realised I COULD pick out subtle hints to turn it into a romance if I wanted to. But it ain't gonna be pretty, I'll tell you that! I hope you like it!

TornadoAlly: Oh, I will! Writing is amazing. Do you have an account?

Willow182: dances around insanely Oh, PLEASE write a YOSA story. I would read it and love it. We should write so many that they're forced to make a section out of it. This book really should be as popular as any other. I love it.

lyra tavington: Thank you for reviewing! It was because of your review that I decided to update it. I'm glad you like it!

Six people. I must say was more than I expected. I really have no idea how popular this book really is. But I love it greatly!

Please enjoy!

* * *

The rain continued to pour around them as they stared. Paul had the look of someone terrified of facing confrontation, as if he expected Cassie to run inside and phone the police. Cassie was having a hard time breathing properly, eyes wide at the stranger she had known so well but hadn't really known at all. His hair wasn't gelled back as it usually was, straight and pinned to the side of his face from the water. He was soaked and breathless, and he was absolutely gorgeous. He could have been a model if he wasn't considering acint, Cassie thought dimly, watching as he ran a hand through his hair. Then her thoughts collected from her slightly intoxicated brain. He was soaked, breathless and gorgeous, and Cassie had never felt more hate for anyone in her life.

"What are you doing here?" She hissed, shutting her front door behind her.

"I told you," He muttered, turning his face away. "I didn't have anywhere else to go."

"So you came here?" She looked at him incrediously, and his lip tightened, eyes dark as he turned his face to hers in a challenge.

"I would have thought you'd be over it by now, Cassie." He said. "That seems like the type of person you are."

She took one look at his smirk and lost it, fist clenching at her sides. It took everything in her small being from throwing herself at him and beating him into a bloody pulp. Instead, she settled for glaring fiercely at him the way her Grandma had taught her, raising her voice to a shout as she took a step towards him.

"Shut up!" She shouted, raising a fist. "You don't know _anything_ about me! You think you can just show up at my door and say something like that? I hate you. You can curl up in a ditch somewhere for all I care."

He looked almost as surprised as Cassie felt. Never, in her whole life, could she remember saying something like that. Cassie was witty enough to figure out more interesting ways of hurting people then using words. And partially, he was right. She had gotten over it as far as thinking about it ever second went. Lydia's secret assignements and long conversations on the phone with Charlie (Seb couldn't be trusted to resist hunting down Paul and killing him) had helped her with that. She'd been faced with worse things then Paul and he wasn't worth her time.

But something about his face brought out the worst in her after all the work she'd done to get over what he'd done to her. The sight of him in the rain, like that day down at the reserve, smirking and looking as dangerous as he had then. This boy was deranged, covering it up with his charm and acting skills. And he was standing on her doorstep. Giving her bull.

She was ready to kick him.

"Fine." He growled, pulling his hood over his head and staring down at her. "I hope you feel better now, _Cassie_."

He spoke her name with such venom. And with the natural inquisitiveness that was her personality, she suddenly wanted to know why. It was the same foolish feeling that caused her to hurl herself over a couch to see how much it would hurt, to call random numbers she found on sugar packets. She'd never done anything to him, except annoy him with her letters, and yet he seemed to hate her even before she had done any of those things to ruin his perfectly planned life.

It was the same feeling she'd gotten inside her whole body, right down to her fingertips, when her eyes had met his that day at the "Legal Hearing." She wanted to know. Wanted to know what made him tick, why he was deranged, why he felt the way he did. Heh. Maybe she'd turn out to be another Claire.

She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, taking a step foward and watching silently as he decended the steps, his shoulders slumped. And that annoying inquisitiveness that was her personality and made her jump over the couch made her open her mouth now.

"Wait." She called quietly to his retreating form, and he stopped and turned. "Come in, then. Even you don't deserve to sleep in a ditch. When its raining, atleast."

Those eyes met hers again, made her feel vulnerable, made her feel used. She understood fully how he'd made people love him even though he was secretly a lunatic jerk. For a long time he stared at her, and she had the feeling he was shocked and confused, probably feeling awkward. He really was a good actor, she gave him that much. Eventually, she'd had enough, and she turned her back to his stare and went inside. She left the door open.

He stood in her hallway, looking around the house that probably seemed so big to him and looking entirely out of place. She threw a towel at him from the small bathroom, refusing to look at him as he dried himself off. She didn't have anything for him to wear, since any leftover clothes from Seb and Charlie were not up for grabs. And he would never touch her father's clothes. Never. She settled instead for one of her large pairs of sweatpants and the biggest t-shirt she owned. The sweatpants just fit him and the t-shirt was way too tight. But atleast he was dry, and wouldn't catch a death of a cold and die in her house and leave her with some odd murder case on her hands. Even Emily wouldn't be able to get her out of that one.

He didn't say thank you when she told him he could sleep on the couch. He didn't thank her when she gave him her clothes or let her in her house. He didn't even appreciate the pillows and blankets she placed at the foot of the couch. In fact, he didn't speak at all. She rubbed the goosebumps off her arm, reaching off to switch off the light of the living room in which he dwelled. What were the chances she'd come downstairs the next morning, he'd be gone and her house would be trashed? Her inquisitiveness was her greatest weakness. Paul Wilson was in her house. What was she thinking?

But she heard Paul settle down on to the couch over the creak she made as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. He wasn't stupid. She would have the information ready and waiting for the police if he tried anything. She knew who he was, and any attempt to steal would make him a stupid criminal. And he wasn't a stupid criminal. In fact, she wasn't even sure he was a criminal. She'd have to ask Em.

The glow in the dark stars on her bedroom glowed brightly at her as she stared, listening for any sound she could hear over the hum of the kitchen appliances. She stayed curled in bed for a little over ten minutes, thinking and waiting. Finally, she got up and walked to her door. The lock slid shut soundly.

And still, it took her almost three hours to get to sleep.

That was the thing she loved most about her house. She knew exactly where she could hide things so her parents wouldn't find them. She knew who was walking where just be listening to the creaking of the floor. And she knew exactly which steps made a sound when she descended the stairs. It had been hard sneaking out on someone like her father.

She didn't want to wake Paul up. She didn't want to have to face him, wishing that maybe she'd dreamed the whole thing, despite the fact her door had been locked. She crept across the entrance way and peered into the living room, fully expecting to see an empty couch.

Paul Wilson looked gorgeous even in his sleep. His eyes were closed peacefully, blond hair messed up in all different directions. The shirt he was wearing didn't fit him in the first place, so it wasn't too much of a job for his stomach and muscles to be exposed. He was an actor, a Form Captain. It was hard for anyone to see what lay behind the pretty face. A face Cassie longed dearly to break. Especially the nose.

She squeaked when she realized his eyes were open and staring at her. He looked extremely sleepy and he didn't even seem angry. Part of her knew that he needed time to register who she was and where he was. Another part told her he was probably used to being stared at. That thought, if nothing else, made her even more peeved.

"Morning." She said briskly, preparing to turn and run back up to her room, shutting the door and never coming out.

He didn't answer, sitting up and leaning back on his elbows. He continued to stare at her in amusement, watching as she flushed and shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. Then, after a moment, she straightened. The colour drained from her cheeks and he was surprised once again. She was standing up to him. It was a rare sight.

"You just slept on my couch." She said viciously. "You just slept in my house. I'd say that's pretty fortuitous for you. I said, _good morning."_

He scowled at her, refusing to being lectured and refusing to be put in his place by some stupid Ashbury girl. He stood up from the couch, letting the blanket drop from his waist and pushing past her and into the entrance hall. Cassie stared straight ahead, her teeth clenched. Was he just going to leave? Without so much as an explanation?

"Where's your bathroom?" He asked, hardly giving her a glance.

"Down the hall, first door on your right." She answered stiffly, stepping foward to pick up his blanket before making her way into the kitchen. She refused to allow his appearence to halt her daily schedule. She had friends to see and eggs to fry.

Again, she was hit with the sudden panic she had felt last night. She had Paul Wilson in her house. She'd just really gotten over the incident, really stopped thinking about it. And then came Paul. Perfect in everyway except for his personality. In all honesty, she was terrified of him. But she refused to fall for his act. Somewhere underneath, there was something causing Paul to be this way. And she wanted to find out what.

But not before she fried those eggs.

Paul ran a hand through his hair when he entered the kitchen, confused as to how she could be so normal with him in her house. Wasn't she scared? Of course she was, he realized. But from letters in which he'd gotten to know a person he hated, he knew she wouldn't let it on. She wouldn't go down without a fight. All things considered, Cassie wouldn't be too bad at drama.

"Two eggs or one?" She asked him. Nicely. Civil. As if he were a friend of hers.

"One is fine." He murmured, pulling down the edges of his t-shirt and taking a cautious seat at her dining table. She was being nice, she was cooking him breakfast. She'd let him stay in her house. He fully expected Sebastien to jump out and beat the crap out of him. It was an ambush. Or there was something seriously wrong with this girl. Not that he wasn't thankful for her derangement. He hadn't had to sleep in the rain.

"What are you doing here, Paul?" She sighed, turning her back to the stove, spatula in hand. Paul eyed it wearily. "I mean, I know you needed a place to stay. But..why?"

He was silent for a long moment, glaring at the wood of the floor. Stupid girl, she didn't need to know anything. It wasn't her business, and it was her fault it had all happened in the first place. On the other hand, she wasn't stupid. If he was staying at her house, she needed to know why...

"My parents kicked me out." He growled, waiting for her laughter.

The spatula dropped to the floor.

"What?" She gasped, completely shocked. "Why?"

"They have high expectations." Paul murmured. "There is no way they'd put up with me being expelled."

"Seb said you _weren't_ expelled." Cassie recalled, ignoring his curse when she mentioned her friend. "Your parents withdrew you from the school!"

"Yeah." Paul glared. "But to them, it was still expulsion. I'm a disgrace."

"Its not like Brookfield is the nicest..." She stopped, face flushing again. "You have no place to go. Your parents just kicked you out? We have to go to the police or something!"

He raised his eyebrows at such an extremity. "And tell them what?"

She paused, tilting her head down. Paul knew the read question was why he'd chosen to come to her. When she was the source of the problem, where she would be more likely to turn him down than anyone else. But the truth was, ulterior motive or not, he knew her because of her letters. And he was going to use that to his advantage.

They were quiet for a long time. Peaceful in their enmity. It gave Cassie time to think. This was the first time they had ever talked, the first time she'd looked at him long enough to really see him. Her heart gave that panicked twinge again, and she hurried to set his eggs out in front of him on the table. He was a guest, and she'd always been taught to treat her guests with respect. She wondered if Paul Wilson was an exception, but here she was, giving him breakfast.

He began to eat with such fervor that she suspected he hadn't eaten in days. She would have felt sorry for him, would have been horrified about his parents kicking him out. But she didn't. Although she did try to quell her thoughts that he deserved it. She waited for him to say thank you, but it never came. Paul just continued to eat food prepared for him by the girl he had tortured for almost a year.

She sat down across from him, ignoring her own plate and staring at him intensely until he noticed and looked up. Then she grinned, insane and maniacal. The grin that often worried her friends. Paul Wilson would not win this fight so easily.

"You're welcome, Paul."

* * *

Yar. Go me. I didn't actually expect to update this today. But I already had it half written and I was in a writing mood (despite my lit exam today.) So here it is! Please review! 


	3. to yourself

"Accepting Irony."

A/N: I do not own the Year of Secret Assignments. If I did, I would write a sequel.

Starrflame: I am about to jump to your profile to see if you've posted your story. _grins evily and picks up the Frying Pan of Doom_ Just in case. :P

Chinsky: Muahah. I can't believe it was the summer when I thought of this story, but I can remember it exactly. I was lying on a beach towel, burning, and reading the part about the fake 'legal hearing' and Bindy was like 'That's Cassie, you have to be nice to her 'cause her dad died last year.' And Paul looks over at her and their eyes meet. I was all 'Woo-hoo! Potential romance!' _sighs_ I see potential romance in EVERYTHING...

Bitter Twilight: Eeeeeh..sorry for the long wait.

Luny Time: Actually, this update is 'cause of you...and the fact that I got YOSA for my birthday and was reminded this fic existed..

Enjoy!

* * *

The first thing Seb Mantegna thought when he opened his eyes was that he couldn't breathe through his mouth. The next thought consisted of the warm bundle attached to his side; he finally identified the hair in his mouth to be Lydia's. His girlfriend tended to take up the whole bed when she slept, arms and legs thrown to all sides, leaving very little room for him. But then again, this was her bed, so he didn't dare tell her how to sleep. Lydia had a very threatening appeal.

"_Someone_ needs to brush their teeth." He whispered hoarsely, after gracefully spitting her dark strands from his mouth. "And quickly, before I'm gassed to death."

"_Someone_ needs to shut up and get me coffee." Lydia's voice muttered from his shoulder and he grinned despite himself.

"Hangover?" He bent his head to place a kiss on her cheek. "We were that drunk?"

"You're in my bed." Lydia raised her head, green eyes grinning out from a tired face. "What do you think?"

"You've wounded me." He sniffed, shoving her to the other side of the bed and sitting up. His loving girlfriend exhaled in his direction and dismissed him as she rolled on to her side and presumedly went back to sleep. Seb rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her cheek repeatedly until she shoved him away in annoyance.

"Okay, okay!" She sat up, running a hand through her hair. "I'm up."

"Thank you." He smiled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"And why are we getting up at..." She glanced at the clock that rested on her bed side table. "Seven thirty on this fine Saturday morning?"

"One: Do you know how violently your father would react if he realized I had spent the night?"

"My mother would defend you." Lydia protested, grinning again.

"And _two,"_ He stressed, ignoring her teasing. "We need to go to Cass'."

Lydia yawned loudly, pulling a jacket over the shirt she hadn't bother to change out of the night before. Seb took the time to examin her exposed midriff with relish, something Lydia rudely interrupted by hissing at him once she noticed. He shrugged; being her faithfully whipped boyfriend did not make him any less male.

"I left my sweater there last night," He explained, as he opened her bedroom door for her in a mock attempt to be gentlemanly. "And since my mother bought it for me, she'll be watching to see if I'm wearing it when I come home."

"Which you were supposed to do last night," Lydia said, pushing open her back door and squeaking as the sunlight hit her eyes. "She's probably worried sick."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close as they walked down the sidewalk, "She knows you take good care of me."

"You're such a goon." She accused, although she was smiling.

"Your goon," He agreed, brushing his lips over the side of hers. "Bound for eternity; solely for the purpose of doing your bidding."

"All at the small cost of getting into my pants." She added, her tone wry.

Seb considered this, and for a moment Lydia really thought he had taken her comment seriously. She could see Cassie's house at the end of the street, and she deeply considered running for it before her boyfriend got any lecherous ideas.

"Is that an option?" He cackled, as she smacked him in the chest.

"You're a fast learner." Lydia wrapped her own arm around his waist, delighting Seb with such a small touch. "Soon, you'll be professionally cynical and I'll be able to cut your padawan braid off."

"Obi-Wan Jaackson-Oberman." He chuckled. "Nice ring, it has."

"Nah." Lydia tilted her face and nipped his chin. "I'm Darth Vader and you know it."

This time, she really did run for Cassie's house, followed closely by a peeved Seb Yoda.

Cassie plunged her hands deeper into the soapy water in the kitchen sink, pulling out a few pieces of cutlery and scrubbing them. She was soaked up to her elbows, a few wet-spots on the bottom of her shirt. Her fingers ached, and the soap made her skin itchy, but she didn't care. Working was one of her favorite ways to stop thinking about something troublesome. And Paul Wilson, who was leaning against her kitchen door was _very_ troublesome, if she had anything to say about it.

"Why didn't you tell me about your father?" He asked, causing her to jump, both at the fact that he had spoken and the extremely personal question.

"Didn't seem important." She replied angrily, scrubbing the frying pan extra hard and imagining his face. "Glad I didn't."

He shrugged. "I would have thought that would have been something you would talk about. Since getting over your father was the reason you wrote to me in the first place."

"Yeah." She seethed, slamming the soap-drenched pan into the dish strainer. "I wrote to you trying to make myself less insane. What wonderful fortune that my letter ended up going to _you."_

"I tried to get you to shut up." He replied, as if this justified his actions at all. "So don't blame this on me."

"Don't blame this on you?" She yelled, whirling on Paul with such ferocity he was sure that she was going to pick up the frying pan and hit him with it. "Do you realize what you did to me?"

"I didn't do anything to you." He said cooly, straightening from the door. "You did this all to yourself."

"It was a sick fantasy, wasn't it?" She growled, eyes flaming as she stared at him hard. "Some inner goal for you to get back at some Ashbury girl who treated you badly."

"That has nothing to do with it." His voice, usually so well contained, was beginning to rise. "You didn't get the point at the start of term. I didn't want to write some Ashbury slag."

"Oh, great job, Paul!" She faltered, the use of his name sounding so umfamilar on her lips. "Are you proud? Does it seem to you that I've learned my lesson?"

He opened his mouth and found that no words would come out. This girl that he had hated but hadn't known in person stood in front of him, radiating fury and absolutely no signs of weakness. Ashbury girls were stacked, he had to admit. None of the girls at Brookfeild would talk to him like this.

"It worked, right?" He murmured, taking a step toward her. "It didn't take me long to gain your trust."

And suddenly, she was flying at him. Tiny fists gripped the front of his–her–shirt and shoved him full force against the wall. There she pinned him, angry tears surfacing in her eyes and leaving him completely surprised. She was strong, although he could have easily shoved her off. Yet something about her reaction or the fact that she had attacked him; _sweet, kind and generous Cassie_, left him helpless.

"I _hate_ you." She hissed, face right up in his. "You're nothing but a sick, sorry coward who needs to hide behind a pretty face to get what he wants. I've had a hard time too, but you didn't see me using someone as an emotional punching bag."

"You're wrong." He murmured, the frizy hairs escaping her pony tail brushing against his skin, making him feel oddly calm.

"What?" She replied, her eyes losing some of that fire and her grip on his–her– shirt becoming slightly looser as she realized what she had done.

"You're wrong." He repeated slowly. "You _were _using me, Cass. Can you really say you weren't aware of that?"

They stared at eachother; the dishwasher hummed, the clock ticked. Cassie was lost in the insanity of it all, in her unusally rash behavior, the fact that he was in her house. Why was this happening? Why wouldn't difficulties and complications just leave her alone?

She vaguely noticed that his head was twitching ever so slightly. Was he rubbing his face against her hair? She only had a second before the back screen door slid open, and voices assaulted the quiet they had fallen into.

"Cass!"

She turned; eyes dreading what she thought they would never dread to see. Lydia and Seb stood in the doorway, both of them staring at herand Paul in shock. She took a step back, speechless to the whole situation. She glanced at two of her greatest friends and for reasons she couldn't explain, did not like what she saw.

Seb looking ready to kill.

* * *

Wow, this was random. Sorry for the long wait, my faithful readers. I had, quite frankly, forgotten about this story. Please forgive me!

Well?


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